The House of Builders and Machines: The Pre-Requisite for Death
by King Reepicheep
Summary: "Suffering through Hell is the pre-requisite for death Mr. Morrow." Christopher is interrogated by Thomas Morrow about his dastardly deeds. During the conversation, Christopher brings out details of his past and asks a few questions for Thomas to answer as well. Sequel to "The House of Builders and Machines". (This one is a bit shorter) Part II of III.


**The House of Builders and Machines: The Pre-Requisite for Death**

**Location:** An Interrogation Room

**City:** Washington, D.C.

"The President of the United States has been murdered, care to elaborate on that?" A man in a mustard colored suit and a very fitting ketchup stain from his hot dog lunch said to Christopher, who was busy being guarded by two members of Secret Service.

The room that these people were in was obviously an interrogation room. A window on the side that revealed the hallway with closed shades and musty looking curtain. An old tired overhead lamp that swayed periodically as if he were writing notes on the case. A filing cabinet that kept all records and was clearly the smartest object in the room beside Christopher. The table in the dead center with its gray, gloomy texture and generalship like appearance made the room a rejected _Godfather_ piece that Mr. Francis Ford Coppola didn't have time to edit into the film.

"What is there to elaborate on Mr. Morrow?" Christopher asked.

"Your house was found containing apparatuses, similar to the one's found on Ms. Sciuto as well as the bodies of a wolf, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Kate Todd, and a third."

"A third?"

Thomas Morrow nodded, he placed his hands on the table. "Mr. Hubert Floyd was found hanging from a bleeding noose inside the upstairs room." He looked at one of the Servicemen, who handed him a case file. Morrow set the file on the table and opened it, revealing a ghastly photograph. "Entrails were on the floor, as if his body just caved in from gravity."

"Ah the gear room," Christopher said. "He was always fond of that place. Beautiful artwork, I might hang it on my cell."

"You do that." Morrow replied as he took the empty chair across from the table.

"Now," Thomas continued, "let's start at the beginning-"

"Let me guess," Christopher said interrupting him, "you want to do some psychoanalysis on me don't you? Okay, I'll play along Thomas, father of three, widower, favorer of whisky and an expert foxtrot." He said out of random annoyance, which made Thomas slightly confused for a moment but nonetheless, Christopher continued anyway, "It is to my understanding," that you took this position out of your own incompetence of your former position. Am I right?"

"This job is higher pay." Thomas answered.

"So beings the ever whimsical weaving of mystic sweaters!" Christopher cried. "Or in layman terms," he leaned across the table, "you're lying to me. You took this job because of your incompetence." He cocked his head, slowly, mockingly, as if he were Cheshire Cat. "Or was it because of your wife, or your grandfather, or perhaps it was your mother?" He paused. "Arson was it?"

Thomas nodded. "September 20th, 2005, the house burned down the night before. The authorities labeled it arson."

"Did you catch the perpetrator?" Christopher asked.

"Charles Monroe. He was sentenced for first degree murder." Thomas replied.

"Interesting, do you happen to know what his prison number was?"

Thomas looked at Lyons, confused as to why something so irrelevant as a prison number would be important. "No I don't." Morrow said. "Now, please tell me, did you kill the President using mind control?"

Christopher laughed, "Mind control is just the start of my work Mr. Morrow if that's what you're asking about."

Morrow nodded. "I want to know everything about you."

"So that you can use the technology for your own devious ends?" Christopher asked. "Interesting and rather tempting but the outcome seem weighted and unjust."

"So is commanding people to kill themselves." Thomas said.

Christopher leaned back in his chair and smiled, revealing his featureless face. He motioned with his hand in a sweeping motion under his chin, as if to gesture for Morrow to read the word that was painfully etched on his lips. Christopher then looked at the Secret Servicemen, lifted his hand, and snapped his fingers.

"There is actually an interesting story behind my face Mr. Morrow." The one on the left said.

Morrow looked at him and said. "Chris?" He asked.

Both Servicemen nodded, Christopher himself simply put his feet up and behaved as if he were smoking a cigarette and smiled wickedly.

"When I was a boy," the left Serviceman, whose name was John said, "my father placed me the gas chambers."

"The gas chambers?" Thomas asked. "As in World War Ii?"

John nodded. "You're getting ahead of me." He said, "Anyway, the gas did not kill me, simply because my father was an evil man. A cruel, malevolent son of a bitch. He pulled me out and told me to stand there in front of the large pit where the dead prisoners were placed. He then turned on a flamethrower. Well, you can imagine the rest."

"How did you survive?" Thomas asked.

Christopher sat back up and snapped his fingers again, releasing the Secret Servicemen from their trance. Lyons then leaned across the table and pulled a lethally sharpened Ka-Bar from his pocket. He stabbed Morrow in the torso, right between the left and right brachiocephalic veins which are located just above the heart. Christopher climbed onto the table in a crouched almost panther like position.

"Mr. Morrow," Christopher said. "If you're wondering about my psychological state at the present, let's just say that I am, for all intents and purposes that is, am currently a state of protection of my family. To put it simpler, you are the bully on the block Thomas, you pester my work and my work is precious to me, like a father is to his children. If you think that for five seconds I'm going to let the Government of Sin away my life's ambition you are sorely mistaken."

"Can you do me a favor Christopher?" Thomas asked.

"Of course Morrow," Christopher replied, "I'll do anything within my reason."

Thomas nodded, "Kill me."

"Suffering through Hell is the pre-requisite for death Mr. Morrow. I can't meet that request." Christopher replied.

"I have suffered enough!" Thomas cried.

"If you have to say that," Christopher retorted, "then you haven't even begun to suffer!" He reached down and grabbed Thomas' right arm, he twisted it with one hand in a small arm lock. Christopher held this position long and hard. Thomas screamed in pain. "Please stop! Just kill me now!"

"Why ever for!" Christopher said in a Bane like voice.

"Because I don't want to live in a world run by psychopaths and murderers." Thomas said.

Christopher laughed deviously as he let go of Thomas' arm. "You just described politicians Mr. Morrow, I am not a politician."

"Then what are you then?"

Christopher smiled as he removed the knife from Morrow's chest, placed the knife on the table and grabbed Thomas' face. Morrow shivered a bit, for Christopher's hands were ungloved and were cold as if dipped in ice.

"I think I answered that question already Thomas." Lyons said. He looked at the Servicemen who left the room.

Thomas looked up at the light in between Christopher's clammy hands and noticed that it began to sway back and forth back and forth.

"That's it," Christopher said, noticing that Morrow was looking at the light, "look at it one last time Mr. Morrow." Christopher then reached into his pocket again, pulling out the infamous Beretta M9. Lyons then moved his hand over the man's eyes so that he couldn't see the bullet. Thomas screamed for mercy.

"Christopher, please don't do this!" Thomas said.

"I'm sorry Mr. Morrow," Christopher replied. "but loose ends and all." He aimed the pistol at his head, placing the barrel up against the top of Thomas' head.

Lyons turned the safety off, and very slowly pulled the trigger.

"By the way, my real name isn't Christopher," he said, "it's Charles."

Thomas looked at him, a bit surprised.

"The man you imprisoned," Christopher said, "was a Kroger cashier who just so happened to be walking by. I crippled the poor boy, told him to take my name if he wanted his family to see another day, giving me time to create this beautiful masterpiece."

"You're insane!" Thomas cried from underneath Christopher's hand.

"Yes," Lyons replied, "I've been called that before. My prison number by the way, for yes I have been there, is very fitting, 661311. Do you know why?" He asked.

Thomas shook his head.

"Hmm," Christopher, now Charles, said, "too bad," He fired. The bullet traveled through the skull and into Thomas' brain, instantly killing him. "It's a rather interesting story."

He put his gun away, dipped his finger in the blood and wrote along the wall.

_Then I saw a second beast, coming out of the earth. It had two horns like a lamb, but it spoke like a dragon._

_- Revelation 13:11_

Charles then walked to the other side of the room, breaking the window on the door and opening it. He then continued down the hallway and exited the building with a smile on his face and silence on his lips.


End file.
